The Glittering
by GIRL IN STORY
Summary: Bill wrote a book based loosely on Richie's psychic abilities. It was called "The Glittering," and Richie was hired to play the hero. He hadn't read the script yet, but apparently he was not going to like "the part with the axe."


Part of the Phuket-verse. You probably don't have to know what happened in Phuket for it to make sense, since I don't remember what happened in Phuket.

* * *

Bill wrote a book based loosely on Richie's psychic abilities. It was called "The Glittering," and Richie was hired to play the hero. He hadn't read the script yet, but apparently he was not going to like "the part with the axe."

The director wanted Richie to gain a little weight for the role, so he was stuffing himself at Kraft™ Services while they filmed Audra exploring a winter resort just outside Portland (the one in Oregon).

The Timberline Lodge had a view of Mount Hood, a breakfast buffet, and a Saint Bernard named Bruno. You could take Bruno on a walk. For a hundred and fifty bucks. Per hour.

"It costs less to spend an hour with Bruno Mars," said Richie. After a moment, he added, "Although he charges extra for petting."

They were sitting in not-director's chairs next to a table piled with gummy worms, clementines, and miniature Cubans sandwiches. Audra was between scenes, but Bill was still hanging out with Richie.

Bill nodded, a little distracted. "I wouldn't pay a hundred and fifty bucks to walk a Saint Bernard unless that little barrel around his neck was full of Remy Martin."

"Okay," said Richie. "How do you say stuff like that when you're not even paying attention? At least pretend to try, so the rest of us don't feel like such hacks. What's wrong in your life as a rich and famous writer?"

"You're a rich and famous writer too," said Bill.

"Well, you got one of those right," said Richie. "I'm Rich."

Bill nodded for a second, and then groaned. "That was terrible."

Richie gave a little bow, only half as elaborate as usual, in (failed) effort not to drop his bagel. "Thus proving my point."

"You're a writer, Richie," said Bill.

He chuckled. "Yeah, I'm famous for my grocery lists."

"Like you've ever written a grocery list in your life."

"Seriously, man. You okay?"

"Audra and I are having some problems."

"What kind of problems?" Richie asked, even though he was hardly an expert in marital disputes.

He was, in fact, a homewrecker.

He was looking forward to his first marital dispute. Bev just had to finish crafting his custom pill-box engagement ring. (Eddie had always liked utilitarian jewelry.) In exchange, Richie had promised to wear Marsh originals for the rest of his celebrity life, even though he had warned her it might be at an end now that he performing Tozier originals.

"We're separated," said Bill. "I think we're getting a divorce."

Richie still didn't know if that announcement necessitated a congratulatory or conciliatory response.

"Aloha," he said.

Bill huffed out a laugh. "Thanks. It's fine. Good, even. This film is us seeing if we can still work together. We can, but that's about it. I'm glad you're here, or I'd be stuffing my face all alone."

"You're not stuffing your face at all," said Richie, gummy worm sticking out of his mouth like a flaccid cigarette. "I'm eating for two here."

"Yeah, and it's kind of ruining my appetite."

It was Richie's turn to laugh.

Bill wiped worm off his shirt. "After this film we're filming _Dug Graveyard_. We're going to be travelling awhile first, scoping out locations. I know you want to focus more on _Headshot_, so I invited Mike to come along."

"Oh, yeah?"

"His travel funds are starting to run low," said Bill. "I keep offering— I know we all do, but he's too proud. Doesn't seem to have a problem bunking with me though."

"I don't blame him," said Richie, giving him a once over, before he could think it over.

Richie had been trying to cut back on the gay jokes, even though he was finally an openly gay comedian. He didn't want to make anyone uncomfortable, but he'd joke-flirted his way through childhood, and they all reverted a little around each other.

Bill didn't laugh.

"And I'm an excellent judge of character," Richie began to babble. "I can look at a person and be like, "Ah, yes. Robust. Good legs. Less fruity than a Kaspbrak '76, but an excellent vintage."

Bill laughed this time. "Legs?"

"The legs are what happens when you swirl the glass around," said Richie. "I'm not longer allowed to drink alcohol straight from the bottle."

"Eddie's good for you."

"Yeah," Richie agreed easily, and then, "Shit. I'm sorry, Bill. I just—"

"Don't be sorry," said Bill. "You guys give me hope. Especially since I kind of pulled an Eddie."

"Choked out a leper or wore a fanny-pack unironically?"

"Married someone from my past."

"Huh?" Richie squinted at Audra, who was squatting down to chat with Danny. He was the only kid on set, so sometimes between takes, he would let Richie beat him in Trivial Pursuit Pop culture. Danny was thirteen, so Richie was a little bit afraid of him, but he also reminded Richie of Georgie.

"Don't you think Audra looks a bit like Bev?" Bill asked, like that question wasn't more loaded as his Dad's Walther the day It kink-shamed Richie's furry fantasy (which was how Richie referred to the Werewolf Incident, no matter how many times Eddie asked him to stop).

"I guess? Do you— Uh. Are you okay with Bev and Bill…"

Bill nodded. "I love Bev, but that's not why I married someone who looks like her. I did it for the same reason as Eddie. It was the only kind of love that..." He ran his hands through his graying hair. "_...that I was allowed."_

They were quiet for a while after that, except for the slurping. Richie left the line open, but if Bill was done talking about it, he was also done thinking about it.

Maybe it was because Richie left the line open, but Bill suddenly said, "Danny reminds you of Georgie, doesn't he?"

"Are you—"

"I'm okay," said Bill, like he was tired of saying it, and Richie could empathize. Eddie had taken to asking him, "How's your cat?" If Richie responded with an inappropriate joke, he was fine. If not, Eddie started the hot chocolate.

"It's getting better," said Bill. "I just wish I'd gotten to see him at that age."

"I sort of did," Richie heard himself say. "In the uh— In the Deadlights."

Richie carefully didn't look at him in case one of them started crying, and Bill returned the favor. They watched the scene, in which Audra and Danny were touring a pantry with an alarming amount of Tang for such an upscale hotel.

"You told us that you and Stan had some help," said Bill. "I thought you meant Maturin."

"_Fuck_ that A'Tuin wanna' be," said Richie. "Uh, you know the kids— the kids that Pennywise killed? They were still floating. So I called them. Because, you know, kids are mean."

"Sure," said Bill.

"They wouldn't come at first. Then there was Georgie. He looked just like he used to. He even had that— that Charlie Brown sweater. Do you remember?"

"I remember," Bill said, almost reverently.

"The other kids came when Georgie called. He was just a kid, but— but he was a kid for twenty-seven years, you know? He was smart, and people— people _liked _him."

"He liked you too," said Bill.

Richie swallowed hard. "He made it a game."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah." Richie smiled, small and hard. "The game was called Let's Kill This Fucking Clown."

"I wondered," said Bill. "When we started insulting Pennywise, it… It felt too easy."

"That's 'cause we were just the cheerleaders," said Richie. "It was like Lord of the Rings, but the Army of the Dead were all ten-year-kids. It worked in the Deadlights vision, so Maturin broke the loop."

"And you just... woke up?"

Richie shrugged.

"How did you know it was real that time?" asked Bill.

"Well, I wasn't sure at first, but, you know…." He shrugged again.

Bill finally looked at him. "...Do you know it's real now?"

"I'm mostly sure," said Richie, but he forgot to make it a joke.

Bill stood up and moved his not-director's chair closer so he could put his arm around Richie's shoulders. He was nice enough to not comment when they started shaking.

"_Thank you,"_ thought Bill, even though...

" I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner, Bill. I wanted to. I was going to. It was just—"

Bill held up a hand, and Richie high-fived it on automatic. "You had massive brain trauma Richie. You kind of get a free pass for that whole period of time."

"Tell that to Eddie, would ya'?" Richie laughed, wiping his eyes. "He's still blaming me for his Jack Nicholson nightmares."

"Jack Nicholson?"

"Yeah," said Richie, "You know? From _The Shining_?"

"You mean your psychic abilities?"

"No, the movie."

Bill looked concerned, but not for the right reason. "It's called _The Glittering_. We had to change the title because the Misfits threatened to sue."

"Not _this_ movie. There's a movie called _The Shining_ with Jack Nicholson and Shelley Duvall. It's a classic. Everyone knows it's a classic. I'm not crazy," said Richie. "This time."

Bill shook his head. "I've never heard of it."

"I'll prove it."

Richie pulled out his phone, but all he got from Google was some Australian football player, and… there was the Misfit's song.

"Huh," said Richie. "That may have been another universe. Well, the good news is that _The Glittering _might become one of the most influential horror films of all time."

"What's the bad news?" asked Bill, apparently unaffected by his imminent place of honor in cinematic history, despite how seriously they had all learned to take Richie's predictions.

"I'm really not going to like the part with the axe."


End file.
